The pioneer West : $b Narratives of the westward march of empire
History
The pioneer West : $b Narratives of the westward march of empire
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.)
Woodson had moved on in search of new lands and for months he traveled
into the west, moving by easy stages with his little pack string,
sampling the ledges and panning the streams en route. Everywhere there
was food in plenty and he lived off the country as he roamed. He came
at last into a land whose natural wealth staggered his imagination,
the giant forests of the northwest coast. There were stretches where
he might travel for weeks without once leaving the timber; and such
timber! Fir, spruce and cedar side by side, each monster capable of
furnishing from within its own mighty trunk the lumber for a small
village. They stood ten to eighteen feet through at the butts, rising
with barely perceptible lessening of dimension, towering three hundred
feet aloft, two-thirds of their height without a limb. From these a
man might cut beams six feet through by a hundred feet in length as
easily as eight-inch board stuff is cut from the average tree. Week
after week he wandered through this king of forests, the ferns growing
to his saddle skirts. There was one stretch of a hundred miles each
way, covered with a solid stand of the finest timber known to man. He
lingered in this tract for a solid year. Here, in this one stretch,
he estimated, was enough lumber to rebuild the world, lumber that was
clear, straight-grained and without a knot.
He was a man of the open, attuned to Nature’s varying moods; he had
felt the different spells exerted by mountain, lake and plain and
thought that he knew them all; yet here was something new. There was
a hush in the dim aisles of this mightiest of all forests, a reverent
silence rarely broken. It was so completely roofed over by the tufted
tops as to almost exclude the light. Even the night sounds were
subdued as if the wild things hesitated to raise their voices above the
softest croon and cheep necessary for communication among themselves.
Woodson some way disliked to shatter the silence with his voice and
when he spoke to his horses it was in the modulated tones one uses in
some ancient cathedral freighted with reverent memories.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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